


A Change of Heart

by notjustmom



Series: Doodahs and Whatnots [26]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, alternative universe, first morning after, post pool scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 06:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12551244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: After the Pool scene, Sherlock and Lestrade chat. Again filling in something I wanted to see.





	1. A Phone Call

"Greg?"

"Sherlock? What's wrong? Is John okay?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his mobile and managed to mumble, "what makes you think something is wrong? John is fine, I think, he's fine, at the moment."

"First of all, you called me, and you called me by the correct name. And... what do you mean you think he's fine 'at the moment?' "

"He's - we met Moriarty."

"Met Moriarty. What were you thinking -" Greg muttered under his breath and pinched his nose.

"I - arranged a meeting with him. I thought - I didn't think. He almost died Greg. Because of me."

"Wait. Who almost died?"

"John. He was kidnapped on his way to Sarah's. I didn't know. I was so busy trying to be clever. I wanted to beat him, but he - Moriarty. Damn it. I almost blew us up, almost blew John up and - he was willing to die for me, Greg. I thought at first, for a brief moment, that he was Moriarty. I believed it, Greg. How did I, how could I - even begin -to damn it, I can't -?"

"Where is John, Sherlock?"

"He went to get milk. I'm waiting for him to come out of the store. I - I'm afraid to let him out of my sight, but I can't - I can't do shops."

"I know. Just breathe, and talk to me. Breathe, Sherlock."

Sherlock leaned back against the wall of the alley where he was waiting for John and closed his eyes.

"Sherlock, you still there?"

"Yeah. I'm here."

"Tell me."

"I arranged a meet at the Pool, where Carl Powers died, and I walked in, and waited, and then John walked in, in a parka, and I actually thought - and then he started talking and pulled open the parka and he was wired with enough explosives to take down a couple of city blocks. My fault, Greg. I should've realized. For Moriarty to have all those 'projects' going, he had to have an army, I was arrogant enough to think I had put a dent into his, I don't know, his empire, is not too large to describe what he's built. And John - he was - he grabbed Moriarty and told me to run. As if I could have - he doesn't know, Greg, he thinks he's - damn."

"Tell him."

"Tell him, what, precisely? That I was wrong? That I made an error in judgment that nearly got him killed? Ok, several errors in judgment? That I wouldn't know what to do if something happened to him - damn. I just said that out loud, didn't I? How do you people do this, Greg?"

" 'You' people?"

"People, you know, with feelings..."

"Sherlock -" Greg stood up and walked to over to his door and closed it quietly, then leaned against it.

"How do you tell someone -"

"Just tell him, Sherlock." 

"Shit. There he is - I gotta go."

"Sher - damn." Greg threw his mobile on his desk and went back to his seemingly endless pile of paperwork.


	2. A Confession of Sorts

Sherlock looked away as John crossed the street towards him, trying his best to look nonchalant.

"You followed me."

Sherlock bit his lip as he lifted his eyes to meet John's. "I did."

"You have been, ever since the Pool."

Sherlock nodded, even though he didn't need to confirm John's suspicions.

John sighed and turned towards home. "Come on, I've got enough food to feed an army, and you must be hungry, at least want your tea, at any rate."

"I -"

"Not here, Sherlock. I'm hungry and exhausted - I just want to go home, yeah?"

Sherlock shoved his hands into his pockets and they made their way home in silence.

 

"Boys?"

John shook his head and continued up the steps. Sherlock gave her a look and shrugged his shoulders.

"Sherlock, what did you do?"

He kissed her cheek, then turned to walk slowly up the seventeen steps. He counted each one, hoping to - he didn't even know why he was dragging his feet, he just wasn't ready to lose him, not already.

"Kettle's on."

Sherlock kept his coat on and wrapped it tightly around himself as he fell onto the couch and waited, even though Mrs. Hudson had started a fire for them, and the room was comfortably warm.

"Can you - "

"I didn't even -"

They stared at each other, and Sherlock cleared his throat, and began again. "I didn't think."

"Which time?" John tried to smile at him, then looked at Sherlock's face and shrugged. "Sorry."

"I should have realized."

John walked over to his chair and dropped into it, figuring it would be easier if Sherlock didn't have to face him, and he was actually exhausted from the return of the nightmares, not of Afghanistan, but of losing Sherlock, of being blown up... hearing Moriarty's laughter ring in his ears...

"He was - it was just a game, to him. He wanted to know, what my weakness was, in those two minutes he was in the lab, he figured it out, somehow he realised - or perhaps he knew before then, he just wanted to see us in person, how we - confirm his suspicions."

John closed his eyes and rested his head on his hand. "What are you -"

"He understood that you -"

The kettle screamed then. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but got up and walked stiffly to the kitchen to switch it off. He lifted his head and looked back to the front room, as he heard John snore against his hand.

"Damn. You are my weakness, John, because you - you are my heart." He walked over to the couch and picked up the blanket, then carried it over to John and covered him carefully. "And without you, I don't know if I can go on." 

John sniffed and curled up into his chair, and soon was snoring again.

Sherlock turned to walk out of the flat, to clear his head, he told himself, when he heard the skies open up. "Damn." He walked into the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea, then sat down in his chair and watched John sleep. "At least you're safe, for now." He put his cup down as he felt himself falling asleep to the sound of the rain hitting the windows, and John's quiet presence.

 

"Sherlock!"

"Wha -?" Sherlock startled awake to John's panicked voice.

John hit the floor with a thud, as the blanket tangled around his legs. "What the fuck? How - "

"John?" He rubbed his eyes and looked down at his friend. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Sorry - we were talking. And I - I'm sorry, Sherlock, was it important? I should go to bed, unless -"

Sherlock shook his head as he helped John to his feet. "It can wait. Unless you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" John mumbled as he tried to avoid Sherlock's eyes.

"The nightmare - you shouted for me, you were afraid." 

John shrugged. "Don't remember. I need to get some sleep. There's plenty of food. 'Night."

Sherlock nodded and watched John limp to his room.

"Damn." He rubbed his eyes and curled up in his chair, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do.


	3. The World According to Molly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...or... Sherlock asks Molly for advice...

"How do I tell him?"

Molly looked up from her latest case, and stared at him. "Good morning, Molly. You look lovely today. Why, thank you, Sherlock, how kind of you to -" She stopped as she saw a look in his eyes she'd never seen before. "Sorry. How do you tell whom, what, precisely?"

Sherlock sighed, and shoved his hands into his pockets. "John. How do I tell him - you know -"

Molly pushed her safety goggles into her hair and crossed her arms. "I know, what?"

"Molly."

"Uhmhmm. I do have work to do..."

"Okay! I - have feelings for him, and I messed up. Big time. I realized - I think I might love him, Molly, and I almost blew him up."

"What?!"

"I didn't - Moriarty nearly did. But it was my fault he was there."

"Back up. Explain."

"All those cases - the bomber case - it, well, I -"

"Sherlock?"

"I screwed up, Molly, John got kidnapped, and I didn't even know - I was - he was on his way to Sarah's. Moriarty grabbed him, I - didn't even do the shopping like I promised. But I -"

"I know, you have an allergic reaction to domesticity -"

"It's not that, Molly, and you know it." Sherlock whispered.

"Shit. I'm sorry, I know, that was unkind. Look, I'm not - hell, I dated him for a couple of weeks, so I'm probably not the best person to ask for relationship advice. Why not tell him, Sherlock? What's the worst that could happen?"

Sherlock mumbled. "He could leave. He's not gay, Molly. Any chance he gets - he's made it perfectly clear."

"Sometimes you have to take a risk, Sherlock. Not one that will get you or John killed. If you don't tell him, he won't know. If he doesn't want what you want, then at least you will know. But, Sherlock. He's lived with you for how long, now?"

"About four months. And in that time, he's been kidnapped and nearly killed three or, no - on five separate occasions -"

"And yet - he is still with you."

"So?"

"What does that tell you?"

"That he's a world-class idiot? He likes living dangerously, or..."

"Or?" Molly rolled her eyes and spoke slowly at him. "He. has. feelings. for. you?"

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"Now. Go find him - where is he by the way?"

"At the clinic. He's safe there -"

"Sherlock."

"I know. I just - Molly - I haven't, he's. Hell, I can't even talk to you about how I - how am I supposed to tell him, if I can't tell you?"

Molly smiled softly at him and nodded. "That's how you know, Sherlock. When you can't get your brain to work out what your heart wants, it's a mess, isn't it? Maybe write him a note?"

"My handwriting sucks," Sherlock pouted.

"Text him."

"Too - not - just not done."

"Who says?"

"I just -"

"Go." Molly pointed to the door and watched as he opened his mouth again, then closed it and walked dejectedly out the lab door.

Molly sighed and pulled off her gloves to text Greg.

 

What the hell is going on with Sherlock? - M

He might be in love. - G

He was serious? - M

Yeah. He called me, and used my correct name. - G

Damn. - M 

Yeah. So be kind. - G

He was just here. - M

Molly - G

I know, I was busy and he, damn. I messed up. - M

Not your fault. He's a smart guy, he'll figure it out. - G

I hope so. - M

Dinner tonight? - G

Yeah. My place? - M

Sounds good. - G

 

Sherlock pulled up his collar and turned the other way as he saw his brother's car pull up next to him.

 

Get in the car. - MH

Not today, Myc. - S

Sherlock. - MH

What? - S

I have a case for you. - MH

Nope. - S

It could be embarrassing for the 'powers that be.' - MH

 

Sherlock stopped walking and spun on his heel, then stomped back towards the black sedan. He knocked on the window and waited for it to slide down silently.

"This better be good, Mycroft." He hissed through the window.

"Dr. Watson is safe. I have my people watching him."

"Great. Like they were watching him last week?"

"I'm sorry. That was inexcusable. But if you will go after -"

"I'm going home, Myc."

"Sherlock."

"Let me be, Myc."

Mycroft looked at his brother's body language and knew to leave him alone. He nodded sharply and the window slowly closed as Sherlock made his way home, just in time for the rain to start up again.

"Really?" Sherlock glared up at the skies and grabbed a taxi that took him back to Baker Street.


	4. "...a good coat and a short friend..."

"Sherlock?" John called as he dropped bags of take-away on the coffee table. He checked for Sherlock's coat, it was there, hanging on the hook, shoes were neatly lined up. "I brought dinner, I wanted to - Sherlock?" Bathroom was quiet and dark, his bedroom door was open just enough for him to see Sherlock sprawled on top of his blankets, fully dressed, out cold. Damn.

He walked back into the front room and turned on the telly quietly; a match was on, he didn't really care, but he picked out a carton of curried noodles from the bag and was soon rooting for a team just because. He vaguely thought back to yesterday, and wondered what Sherlock had been trying to tell him. something about Moriarty, possibly - the Pool. And he had covered him up with a blanket? Or Mrs. Hudson had. He sighed and spent a couple of minutes thinking through the mess of thoughts that were dancing in his head. Sherlock, trying not to show any fear, but John could see his hands shaking as he held the gun, and when they thought they were safe, Sherlock ripping the parka and explosives off of him, hurling them away - mumbling how it was good what John had tried to do - and then Moriarty returned - John had been sure they were about to get blown to smithereens... except for the phone call that saved them. 

And things went back to normal.  
Except.  
Sherlock hadn't had a case in over a week, hadn't even thrown a strop about being bored yet, and John knew Sherlock had been following him, keeping an eye on him, except on the days he went to work. Sarah had nicely told him, thanks, but no, thanks. And he didn't blame her. She didn't mind Sherlock, actually found him entertaining, but she wanted someone who would have dinner with her without checking their phone every two minutes... damn. He looked into the carton and found he had finished it, the match was boring, and since when did Sherlock fall asleep before seven in the evening? He carried the container to the kitchen and binned it, then walked quietly to Sherlock's door. Still asleep. He returned to the front room and put the food away. Nothing out of the ordinary in the fridge. No odd body parts in the salad drawer. He checked the microwave. Nothing. The teapot. Clean. What the hell? He shrugged and walked over to their desk. John had no idea how to write up their last case. So many cases, all tangled together. '...it was just a game to him...' Sherlock had said that about - Moriarty? Hmmm...

 

Sherlock stretched and opened his eyes. It hadn't been dark when he had laid down, just to rest his eyes for a few minutes. He pulled out his phone and squinted at the time: 11:24? Damn. He managed to get to his feet and make his way to the front room. He took a breath and smelled the curried noodles John favoured. He had picked up dinner. Usually he didn't do that on a Tuesday, unless - he turned and looked at the desk. John had fallen asleep over his keyboard.

"John?"

"Hmmphh?"

"You can't sleep like that."

"Why not?" John groaned at him.

"Your shoulder, idiot. Come on." Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's waist and lifted him from his chair. John sighed and leaned against him. 

"You're tall. Anyone ever tell you that?"

Sherlock snorted. "On occasion. I'm not that tall, just a good coat -"

"And a short friend?"

Sherlock wondered aloud quietly, "are we friends, John?"

"Aren't we? I thought we were."

"Come on, bed." Sherlock helped John into his own room, as it was too much to get him up the stairs to John's bedroom, and he'd already slept more than he had since - he shook his head trying to erase the images that had been running nonstop in a loop for over a week now. He settled John under the covers and was about to turn away when John reached out for him.

"Stay."

"John."

"Please?"

"I have work to do. I'll see you in the morning, yeah?"

"Okey-doke. Wait. I got dinner - it's in the fridge. I noticed - no weird things in there. It's nice." And then John rolled over and began to snore. 

Sherlock shook his head and whispered, "night, John," then quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. He walked back to the desk, sat down in John's chair, and looked at the new entry he had started writing.

 

The Great Game

After all was said and done, Sherlock understood that it was just a game to Moriarty. A game that nearly cost us everything. I was seconds away from losing my best friend, the person who means the most to me, and I've never told him.

It all started one cold evening, we hadn't had a decent case in a month, and Sherlock was beyond bored, which is never a good thing...

 

Sherlock closed his eyes and recalled that evening. He had been bored, so he started searching through John's things. He knew it was a bit not good, but he didn't care, he needed a distraction. Something, anything, and John was out working in that dreary clinic. He had tried to tell John he didn't need to, but John - John wanted to - what was it he had said. 'I want to pull my own weight, Sherlock. I can't just be - I dunno, your sidekick.' He had found John's weapon and ammo, had loaded it and was firing into the wall as John came running up the steps. That was definitely beyond 'not good' and then he had insulted John's write up of their first case... finally sending John storming out of the flat to Sarah's, and Sherlock's last thought before the windows blew in was that he had lost the only person he had ever cared for.

Sherlock shook his head, then got up and walked over to the window and looked down into Baker Street. "He doesn't know. I've never told him." 

"Never told me what, Sherlock?"


	5. A Confession, Take Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one last bit for tonight...

Sherlock tried to calm his breathing as he turned to face a sleep disheveled John.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I was - what did you want to say, Sherlock?"

"It's nothing." Sherlock tried to turn away.

"Sherlock."

Somehow Sherlock found a way to meet John's eyes. "John. I - am at a loss. Ever since the Pool, I have been trying to make things normal again. But, I can't sleep without seeing those little red lights floating all over your face, over your chest. I worry, every time you leave the house, so I try to follow without you knowing, you could have - I don't even know what he did to you when he kidnapped you, I've been afraid to ask - and then you offered, you were willing to give yourself up to save me, and it was all my fault, and I never told you - I thought I'd have time to tell you... and then his phone - that ridiculous ringtone saved us, saved you, and I was let off the hook. And I tried to go back to how -"

"Shhh. Breathe, Sherlock. I'm sorry."

"John. Wait. I can - just give me a little more time - it's fine, if you just want to go back to being colleagues. I can do that. I just need -"

"Stop." 

Sherlock closed his mouth and turned away again.

"I want you. I didn't know how much I wanted you until I almost lost you. First, when I was at Sarah's and I heard about the explosion on Baker Street on the telly. I ran all the way here, I was so afraid, Sherlock, that I had lost my chance, and then you were sitting there, in the rubble, arguing with your brother, like nothing had happened -"

Sherlock shook his head. "You can't."

"And then when you looked at me at the Pool, asking for permission to essentially blow us up, I agreed, because I knew at that moment that I didn't want to - I couldn't exist in a world without you."

"But -"

"That's what I'm apologizing for, Sherlock, that I let you think, I led you to believe that I wasn't interested in you. I'm not gay. I've never been with a man, but the day I met you - I had never met anyone like you before, and I've spent the last few months trying to figure it out, what it is - I've been dating women, because it's what I've always done, but all I wanted to do was make excuses to run home, because they were boring, they don't come anywhere close to making me feel the way you do -"

"John."

"Please, look at me, Sherlock?"

"I don't know how to do this, John. Things will change, and I don't know how it works, what you want from me. I'm not, I've never - I - John."

"Let me heat up some Thai for you? I got those dumplings you like. And -"

Sherlock turned slowly and faced John. "Hot and Sour soup?"

John nodded.

"Can I - would you mind if I kissed you?"

John shook his head. "I wouldn't mind at all."


	6. A First Kiss or Two...

As far as first kisses go, it was naturally a bit awkward. First there was the height difference, and then there was the question of where hands should go, but as far as sentiment went, even John had to admit it was a bit over the top.

"Is that how it normally feels?" Sherlock whispered, once he could find his voice again.

"Uhm. No." John shook his head as he opened his eyes and grinned at the trembling man in front of him. He reached up and laid both hands in Sherlock's curls and they both sighed, as Sherlock leaned down enough so their foreheads touched.

"John," he breathed out, after a long moment.

"Are you still hungry?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. I - can't even think right now, John." Sherlock bit his lip and cupped John's strong face in both hands and gazed into the dark blue eyes that couldn't stop grinning at him. "Are you sure this is what you want, John? I am afraid, that I won't be what you - there's reasons why the work - why I don't, I haven't. I've forgotten how to breathe, John."

John pulled Sherlock closer and they took their next two breaths together. "There. Easy, love." Sherlock froze and John shook his head. "It's okay. We'll go slow, Sherlock, as slow as you need. I promise. Remember, this is new to me too, all I am sure of at this moment, is that I love you, Sherlock."

"John." Sherlock pressed his lips to John's forehead and rested there for a moment. "I never thought -" He let out a breath as John moved his hands down his back and stopped at his hips, then gently pulled him closer. "John - I seem to have forgotten most of the words I knew less than two minutes ago, and I have never been in love before, but I suppose that is what - I - l love you, too." He closed his eyes and John felt him relax, suddenly. "Three tiny words, John, I was afraid to say them to you, that I would lose you, lose what we have - and I don't want to lose you, John. Do you know?"

"I know, Sherlock. Are you hungry or tired, we could just go to bed, if -"

"Will you, can we - I - "

"Your bed is closer, if that's okay?"

"Please?"

John nodded and took Sherlock's hand in his, and gently led him through the flat to his bedroom. Their bedroom, John realized after a moment, as he slowly removed Sherlock's jacket and laid it on a chair. Automatically, he pulled his jumper and t-shirt over his head, without giving a thought to -

"John. May I?" Sherlock's voice was a broken whisper.

Damn. His shoulder. He looked up and saw only softness in Sherlock's face, his green eyes were bright with tears that hadn't yet fallen. He found his voice had stopped working, so he could only nod as Sherlock lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss in the center of the mess. He shivered, and Sherlock pulled back to study his face. "You're beautiful, John, so very beautiful."

"Sher -"

Sherlock began to quickly unbutton his own shirt, but John laid a trembling hand over his and stopped him. "Please, allow me?" It was Sherlock's turn to shudder as he felt John's fingers ghost over his chest, but he bit his lip and his eyes never left John's. He had never seen John's eyes so intent, so brilliant - his fingers somehow worked well enough and suddenly Sherlock felt his fingers at his cuffs, patiently undoing the tiny buttons and then the bespoke shirt slid from his shoulders and onto the floor. John laid steady hands on Sherlock's chest, then leaned forward just enough to tuck his head under Sherlock's chin. Sherlock slowly wrapped his arms around him and held him gently, as if afraid to embrace him too tightly. For once he was at a complete loss for words, but as he felt John's warm breath against his chest, he came to the startling conclusion that silence was at times, more eloquent than any words he could think of. He wondered at the tears that were streaming down his face and tightened his arms around John, closing his eyes as he felt John's arms curve around his waist and hold him fiercely, as if he was afraid Sherlock would vanish if he let him go.

"I'm here, John. I'm here."


	7. Morning Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.... and a bit of an epilogue

John took a breath, then let it out slowly. It was raining, and he was - not in his room. And Sherlock - Sherlock was draped over him, his even breathing tickled his neck. He was afraid to move, he wasn't sure how Sherlock would react, but he needed the loo, and god - he couldn't remember the last time he woke up so incredibly turned on. "Damn."

"Hmmmphhhh?"

"Nothing, I just need the loo."

"Mmmmphhh." Sherlock rolled off of him and buried himself in his pillows, snorted once more and went back to sleep. John shook his head as he placed a gentle kiss into Sherlock's curls then slipped out of bed. He looked in the mirror and blinked. He wondered that he still appeared to be the same person he had been a few hours earlier, but then he walked back into the bedroom and climbed back into bed, and knew he had become something, bigger - just more - 

"John." Sherlock nuzzled his chest and wrapped his lanky limbs around him, essentially shutting down any thought of movement, or thought of - "I wasn't sure if you'd - if last night, we - hmmmm..." John had somehow managed to disentangle himself enough to thread his fingers into Sherlock's curls and tug just enough to get the usually observant detective's attention. Sherlock shifted in a way that made John's eyes roll back and breathing was nearly simply an afterthought. 

"Sherlock - god - please, just, touch me?"

Sherlock, they discovered, was a quick learner, and soon John was babbling incoherently as Sherlock lovingly took him apart, then tenderly held him as he trembled through the aftershocks. "What will we tell people?" Sherlock whispered as John slowly opened his eyes again, and regained his ability to form words.

"We don't have to tell people anything, Sherlock."

Sherlock sat up suddenly and looked at him. "What do you mean, John?"

John shook his head. "No. Don't - all I mean is that - if it's okay with you, I don't want to hide, love. I - I've never been a fan of public displays of affection, but, I'll be damned if people can't tell how much I love you." He pulled Sherlock's astonished face close to his own and kissed him as if - 

"John..."

"Yes?"

"I - I need - you - " 

John rolled them carefully and met Sherlock's blown eyes as he gingerly took Sherlock's length in his hand and took his time, he knew what he liked and he was gratified to watch Sherlock's face relax, his breathing stutter and finally his glittering eyes overflowed as he shuddered through his orgasm. John kissed him through it, whispering soft words to him as Sherlock's elegant fingers held on tightly to his arms, as if afraid he would float away if he weren't tethered to John in some way. "How - John - I - I didn't know. That - you - can I - will you just hold me, please?"

"Yes, love. Let me clean us up first, yeah? And then we can -"

"Hurry back?"

John shook his head, and went to the bathroom, once more checking to see if there was any change - there - in his eyes. He finally could see - he was loved, and necessary, why it had changed suddenly, he didn't know - he didn't believe it was because - but he wondered if it was simply because Sherlock trusted him, wanted him, and he had allowed Sherlock to see him in a way no one else ever had before. He couldn't quite put his finger on the hows and whys as he ran the flannel under warm water, then squeezed it out and carried it back to bed.

"Love?"

"Hmmm?"

"Roll this way - there - better?"

Sherlock looked up at him and nodded, then patted the bed and watched him as he climbed back into bed, and pulled Sherlock into his arms, then kissed his mess of curls once more as Sherlock settled against him. "Rest, love." He shivered as Sherlock kissed his chest, then laid back down and soon was sound asleep again. John closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. He wanted to remember, needed to know how it felt to hold Sherlock in his arms as he was at rest, he knew these moments didn't come often, and somehow knew Sherlock wasn't going to change anytime soon. He almost laughed out loud as he realized he didn't want the madman to change a single thing, he loved him for - he loved him for everything he was, and hoped he would have a lifetime to get to -

"Shhhh... yer thinkin' too loud. People are trying to sleep, Johhhhnn...."

"Sorry, love."

 

John looked up from his laptop as he heard the familiar sound of Lestrade's booming voice as he wished Mrs. Hudson a 'Good morning, Mrs. H, boys up and about?' and Mrs. Hudson's mumbled response, then the DI's heavy footfall on the stairs before a tentative knock announced his arrival.

"Yeah?"

"John?"

"Morning, Greg."

"Where's -?"

"Getting dressed - be out soon. What's up?"

"Got a good one for him - "

"If it's not at least a 6 -" Sherlock grumbled as he entered the room, then made his way over to John and kissed him without any sign of embarrassment. "I'm - we're not interested."

"So - you two - figured things out then?"

"Uhmhmm. Coffee?"

"You made coffee?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"In that case, yeah, I'd love a cup." To Greg's surprise, Sherlock snorted, then started laughing. 

John got up and walked into the kitchen, and poured Greg a cup of coffee, then stood still for a moment as he turned to find Sherlock smiling at him. He caught his breath and grinned back at him, wondering how they had waited so long - stop. Sherlock winked at him, then gave Greg his full attention.

"Locked room, triple homicide - no one heard a thing...."


End file.
